


Sparkfelt

by deerkota



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Multi, Not Beta Read, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Sparkmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 15:24:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19008547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deerkota/pseuds/deerkota
Summary: It was said that the names that appeared on your wrists were the names of people you would encounter in your lifetime: one being your sparkmate’s, and the other your enemy’s. Tailgate is having a hard time figuring out which is which.





	Sparkfelt

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So this is just a little idea I had from a soulmate AU I saw on tumblr. It'll probably be multiple chapters, but I have no idea how long it will be – like usual I'm just winging this, though I have a general idea of where I want to go with it. If any of you have any ideas/predictions on what's going to happen, I'd love to hear what you think!

Ever since he could remember, two names had always been with him. It was said that the names that appeared on your wrists were the names of people you would encounter in your lifetime: one being your sparkmate’s, and the other your enemy’s. Some believed that it was all nonsense, that those in charge of molding the forms of unsparked bots would engrave random names in the plating, but most were certain that it was real. After all, if repairs were done, or replacements attached, the names would show up soon after as if they had been there all along.

The names, oftentimes called Bond Marks, were considered extremely sentimental – it wasn’t something to just show off or boast about. Many bots (or at least the ones who could afford it) would get special holographic coverings for them to prevent nosy bots from getting any ideas of getting a look at one’s Marks. Tailgate could not afford such pleasantries.

As far as he knew, only a handful of bots had seen his Bond Marks: Ratchet and Swerve were the only ones he was most certain of, as Ratchet had been the one to examine him on the Lost Light while he was offline, and Swerve as he had been the one to carbon date him. After he’d come back online, he asked Ratchet to keep quiet about the names, who scoffed and said something along the lines of, “What kind of bot do you think I am?” Swerve, on the other hand, was taken aside by the other minibot, who made it very clear that he didn’t want him to use the unearthed secret as his latest gossip. So far, he seemed to have kept his vow of silence. He suspected Chromedome or Rewind may have seen when he’d been pulled out of the ground, but neither of them had said anything or hinted that they knew. 

When Tailgate had first met Cyclonus, he was equal parts giddy and anxious. He’d finally found one of the bots that would almost certainly affect the course of his life (his name was there on his left wrist, for Primus’ sake), and yet he was clueless as to what was in store for him. He quickly gained the notion that he very well could be considered his enemy, but there was something about the larger bot that made him feel at ease. Over the course of several months, he had managed to get closer to Cyclonus. At least, it felt like he was. The silent treatments had become less frequent, and more often he found himself enjoying his company. He assumed Cyclonus did too; he at least tolerated him being around as long as he didn’t ramble too much.

After the Luna 1 ordeal, there was the occasional mention of a new bot on board. More specifically, the bot named on Tailgate’s right wrist. Not wanting to arouse suspicion, Tailgate went to the only one he could think of who would know pretty much everyone on board: Swerve.

“Tailgate, buddy! What can I do ya for?” the (not-exactly-legal) bar owner greeted, sliding a glass of high grade across the bartop as Tailgate took a seat. 

He cupped the glass with both servos and took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking quietly, just loud enough for the other to hear over the bustling bargoers. “I was wondering if you knew about this one mech,” he started hesitantly. “I’ve heard some people mention him, but I don’t think I’ve seen him around. His name’s Getaway.”

Swerve leaned forward, his interest piqued. “Ah, isn’t he the guy who-” Tailgate shushed him hastily. “Yeah, I’ve seen him around. He comes in every few solar cycles, usually around this time. Oh!” He tried (and for the most part failed) to point discreetly at the entrance to the bar. “That’s him. The tall one.”

Tailgate rolled his optics. “Swerve, everyone’s tall to us. Be more specific.”

Swerve sighed. “Yellow mask with white wings and a red chassis. Happy?”

Just as he was about to respond, Getaway approached the bar. The two minis quickly made it seem as if they’d been conversing amongst themselves the whole time, and neither of them noticed the larger mech’s quick cursory glance of Tailgate, catching a glimpse of his wrists, turned inward as he held the glass before him.

“Swerve,” he said, smoothly interrupting the fabricated conversation. “The usual, please,” he requested, his optics shining with what could be seen as a smile. Swerve gave a thumbs-up and an “Alrighty,” before turning to mix up the drink. He looked down to catch Tailgate’s gaze, and the minibot looked down at the bartop, rubbing the back of his neck cables sheepishly. “Hello, there,” Getaway greeted, prompting Tailgate to look back at him. “I don’t believe we’ve met. The name’s Getaway,” he said.

“T-Tailgate,” he responded, mentally kicking himself for fumbling over his own name. Getaway didn’t seem to notice.

“Tailgate, hm? Cute.”

Wait, what? Had this mech, whom he’s only really known for maybe half a klik, called him cute? It wasn’t that it was necessarily unusual for him to be called that from time to time, but coming from someone who was a potential sparkmate certainly put a different light on things.

Before Tailgate had time to stammer out any sort of intelligible response, Swerve handed him his drink.

“It was nice meeting you, Tailgate,” he said with a nod before walking off to a small group of mechs in the corner of the bar. Tailgate turned to his own drink and groaned.

This was probably going to get complicated. 


End file.
